The Long Road Home
by gerbilicous
Summary: 11 years before SIII, a young Queen joins the Boarder Defense Force
1. Caleria

I don't own Suikoden, Konami does, lucky bastards.

The Long Road Home

Caleria loomed dusty and crowded at the bottom of the hill, abuzz with the scurry of humanity. Wincing at the noise after the silence of the mountain path, she brushed the yellow dust out of her black hair, once again surprised at how free the new haircut made her feel. She had cried a little when the barber in Le Buque had cut it, 20 years of black silk on the floor, 20 years of her life cut away. She'd felt so strangely unbalanced, so light when he was done and she asked him where she could sign up for the Harmonian mercenary army, but now she was once again filled with the self assuredness that had fueled her for so long. Straightening her clothes, she walked through the boarder town and straight up to the narrow entrance of the Harmonian Boarder Defense Force headquarters. Sliding up to the desk with practiced grace, she said the line she'd been rehearsing to herself for the past 11 months. 

"I'd like a job,  the name is Queen."

"Experience?" The older, battle scared Calerian man glared at her from under his shadir, looking her up and down.

"Three years the Crystal Guards and 12 of fencing practice." She lied, trying to perfect the nonchalant slouch she'd seen on other mercenaries. Well, she had had 12 years of fencing practice, but she didn't think that the kind of dainty, honorable duel fighting her father had insisted she learn was going to cut it here. Fortunately, she was a good brawler, and she wasn't above fighting dirty when she had to. 

"Crystal Guards? Never heard of them." Queen held her breath. He snorted and looked down at his list. "Well, we are short this month… let's see if you know how to use that thing." 

He got down from behind the booth and drew a large, curved sword with practiced ease. Queen smiled beatifically and drew her own long, thin rapier, hoping he couldn't see how petrified she was. He looked at her for a second, sword at his side. 

"Begin." 

It was all she could do to fend off his first strike; the word was barely out of his mouth when he lunged at her, aiming to disarm her. Queen defended wildly as he drove her back, leaning in and using his superior height and weight to push down on her. After a minute, though, Queen had adjusted to his pattern and began to attack as well as defend. He feigned a thrust and swiped at her left side. Queen dropped and rolled so that she was now behind him. Jumping to her feet, she got a touch in on his back before he spun around and knocked off her feet with a flying kick. She hit the ground moving and quickly swung to a defensive crouch, parrying his deathblow with her hilt. Smiling, she kicked his feet out from under him and leaned in to deliver a blow to his now undefended chest. 

The next thing she knew she was on her back with his sword pressed against her throat. Her ribs ached where he a kicked her as he had sprung up at the last minute, spoiling her thrust and tossing her off balance long enough for him to pin her with his foot and catch her in a final blow. Closing her eyes in defeat, Queen released her sword. Satisfied that he had one, the man removed his foot and left her to get up. 

Queen pulled herself up slowly, trying to avoid moving her bruised midriff. She thanked every one of her luck stars that she had decided to spring for that new chain mail in Le Buque, without it she surely would have broken a few ribs. By the time she had pulled herself up, the man had resituated himself behind the recruitment desk. 

"You're too slow, and your style is too fancy. You'll need to work on your speed and do some strength exercises to get some more power in your thrust, because it was just pathetic. Can you do any magic?" Queen shook her head. "Pity, that have made up for some of your failings." 

Queen felt her stomach tighten, had she failed? Was running away from home and walking through the mountains all for nothing? Her hands began to shake a little and she clinched them into fists. She would never show weakness. She was so busy planning her next move in her head, maybe she could find work in the grass lands doing caravan work, that she didn't hear the rest of the man's speech. 

"Excuse me?" 

"I said, you can start next week. Unit 12 just lost their second front swordsman and Ace has been bugging me for weeks to get them a replacement. They're a solid unit, so they should be able to whip you into shape pretty fast. You're expected to provide your own gear, so will you need an advance on your pay for supplies?" 

"No sir." 

"Alright, they'll be in late tonight. You'll meet Captain Geddoe here at sunrise. If you're late they'll leave without you and you're fired. Don't show up drunk. Dismissed." 

The man looked back down at his books and did not look at her again. Queen stood there, flabbergasted. Then she picked up her bag and slowly walked to the inn. She'd done it. She was a mercenary, an independent woman. After getting a room, she spent the rest of the money she'd managed to save from home and bought herself a bottle of ale and a meal. She spent the rest of the night quietly drinking until long after sundown. Then she asked to be woken at sunrise and made her way unsteadily to her room. Below, she could hear a boisterous group enter, demanding drinks. She shook her head, glad she'd gotten out when she did. She was too tired and drunk to go boxing men's ears when they didn't understand that no meant no. Taking off her boots and her armor, she slept peacefully for the first time since leaving her father's house.  She'd left the little girl behind with her dresses and her long hair. She was Queen now, a mercenary fighter, and before she drifted off to sleep, she promised herself that she would never be holden to anyone besides herself ever again. 


	2. Begin Again

Chapter 2: Begin Again

           As it turned out, the wake up call was unnecessary. Queen was up long before dawn, too excited to sleep any longer. She was fully dressed and putting the final touches on her packing job. She didn't have all that much to worry about, the only things she could call her own now were the clothes on her back, her sword, and the supplies in the small bag she carried under her shirt. Still, she made triple sure she looked every bit the professional before she closed the door and made her way down the narrow stairs into the sleeping town. 

            The morning was cold and grey, the sun still hidden behind the tall mountains. Other than the smoke of a few cooking fires, there was no sign of life in the boarder town. Queen rubbed her hands together to warm them. Perhaps she was being a little too anxious. The Captain probably wouldn't even be up for another hour, if then. If this group was anything like other mercenary companies she'd seen, he'd probably either be an ugly old grump, like the recruiter she'd seen yesterday, or else he'd be a young hotshot, full of himself and too free with his hands. Still, this was her dream. Standing here, on the boarder of Harmonia, with a sword at her side, she felt older, mature. She was a woman of the world now. No more young lordlings to suck up to, no more being sent away when the men talked. Her mother had always said she'd be a fine lady, with her talent for music and reading. Still, she felt far more comfortable in this unfamiliar town than she ever had in the music room at home, performing like a circus animal for her father's friends, his acclaimed "pretty little songbird." 

            Looking down, she caught her reflection in a bucket filled with rainwater. What she saw surprised and delighted her. Her short hair, pined back behind her head, brought out the lines of her cheeks, just beginning to sharpen as the last of her baby fat left. Her eyes seemed unnaturally dark in the grey light, deeper than she remembered them. Her skin was still far too pale after a life indoors, despite her trek over the mountains. She didn't think she'd ever be tan. She put a cautious hand to her lips, deep crimson from the red paste she daubed on them every morning to keep them from chapping in the dry wind. She looked like a woman. The little girl who'd run away to find adventure was gone, replaced by Queen. She felt like she didn't know the woman in the reflection. Who was Queen, who was this woman she'd created the moment she'd decided to leave home. She drank, she fought, she could be coy and alluring, but also bawdy and dangerous. She wore the Queen like she wore her new, low cut shirt - hinting, dangerous. 

            Without thinking, she drew her sword and quickly, before she could change her mind, made a long, shallow cut on the back of her hand. She let a small trickle of blood run down her wrist to the ground, dripping softly in the morning stillness. This blood was her youth. As it fell, she solemnly restated every promise she'd made to herself since she left home. The promise she made when she cut her hair. The promise she'd made the night before. She would never look back and she would not fear. She would fight as long as she could; she would die fighting, on her feet with her eyes open, laughing and welcoming death at the point of her sword. This was freedom, to live and die and fight as her own person, for her own goals. To trust whoever deserved it, to follow her heart wherever she wanted to go. Never again would she be her father's daughter, or a commodity to cement political agreements. Queen would no longer be a disguise, a shell she wore to hide her uncertainties. She would be Queen, and she had no fear. 

            With this, she rapped a bandage around her palm and secured it with a clip. Putting her glove back on, she flexed her palm a few times to make sure the bandage wouldn't interfere with her fighting. She swung her sword with practiced ease and a new assuredness. This was her meal ticket now, she thought with a smile, moving into the first of the sword forms she'd been practicing every morning for months. She focused on her speed and reflexes. She would never have the kind of bulk needed for long sword fighting, but a fast rapier could kill just as well as any long sword, or any spell for that matter. Still, she had to be faster, stronger. She followed the tip of her sword like water, flowing into the motions. That was the secret of her speed, her fluidity. She could change her tactics in a heartbeat and her body would flow after, a liquid sequence of muscles. The sun was well over the wall when she stopped, sweaty and panting, with a self satisfied smirk. She was getting better, she could feel it. She was going faster, lasting longer. She could feel her once soft muscles hardening, her hands callusing under the sword hilt, gripping it. The cut on her hand stung, but it was a good sting. It was meaningful pain and she welcomed it. It was only when she leaned over to get some water from the rain bucket that she realized she had an audience. 

            He was tall and gaunt with shaggy black hair that fell in waves over his face. The rest of the town was up now, bustling behind him, but he seemed detached, alone. His clothing was a bit haphazard, but well worn and cared for. The sword on his hip hung with the solid attachment only seen on well practiced swordfighters who were always aware of their body and their weapon. He was missing one eye, but it didn't seem that important, his other eye more than made up for it. He was looking at her with an intense disinterest that made her feel both ignored and self conscious. She straightened up and ran a wet hand through her sweaty hair.

            "What can I do for you?" She asked coyly. He was silent for a moment, and then drew his own sword.

            "Would you like a person to practice with?" He said. His voice was quite, but authoritative, with a low, smooth resonance that was a little thrilling. 

            "I'm waiting for someone." She said calmly. No point in being rude. If there was one thing she would be happy to take with her into her new life, it was her mother's etiquette lessons. Never be rude unless you know it will get you somewhere. 

            "That's alright, we can do it here. It won't take long." He was already getting into position across from her, balancing his sword in his palm. She watched him, a little miffed. Who did he think he was? But there was a weight with his movements and in his voice that made her want to trust him. She nodded and readied her sword again. 

            For a moment, nothing happened. They stood there, studying each other. Queen watched his steady stance, and the weight of his sword, a medium broad one hander. He held it like it weighed nothing, so Queen guessed that he must be fairly strong. His boots were also scuffed along the toe and the insole, marking him as a charger, someone who was used to leaping at the enemy. She decided to catch him off guard and pounced first, aiming a quick straight thrust at his left side. Suddenly, he was gone. She stumbled forward a bit before barely parrying the broad stroke meant to knock her over.  Spinning, she lashed out at the taller man's knees, hoping to drive him back and give herself more room, but he simply dodged and leaned in, lightly raking her right shoulder. Sliding away, she switched her sword to her left hand and brought it down hard on his side. Unfortunately, he was too fast and she didn't connect, falling off balance again and almost landing right on top of him. Tucking at the last moment, she managed to role and come up in a crouch. The man had his back to her, and she was preparing for a top strike when he suddenly sheathed his sword. 

            "Enough, Queen." He said, and she stopped mid swing. How did he know her name? The answer came before the question ended. This must be the Captain. Had the duel been another test? Another man, shorter and lighter with a thin face and shaggy brown hair came jogging up as Queen sheathed her own sword. 

            "Captain, need any help?" He turned toward Queen and gave her a once over. "Are you Queen? Well, I hope you can handle yourself, I don't need to be looking after a little girl." He said, finishing with a smirk and a rakish wink. Queen was just about to show him just how well she could handle herself when Geddoe spoke. 

           "She's capable, Ace. Get her signed up and make sure she's properly equipped. You might want to check her boots, the left one sounds a little worn. Her chain mail seems fine though."

            "That's a relief, we're tight enough on the armor budget as it is. This way, girly, will get you all legal." Ace then spun around and walked into Headquarters, leaving Geddoe and a fuming Queen in the court yard.  

            Geddoe smirked a bit before turning back to Queen. "My name is Geddoe, but Captain will be fine. Ace will get you set up, and then I want the two of you to come back to the inn so you can meet the rest of the unit. Habbin was right, you are fast. I look forward to working with you." He walked past her back towards the main part of town. When he was directly across from her, he stopped and shot her a sly smile which looked oddly out of place on his serious face. "Try not to hurt Ace too badly, he keeps the accounts." Then he walked off toward the inn. 

Queen looked after him for a few moments before turning to follow Ace. Somehow, she still felt as if the Captain was looking at her with his dark gaze. Its intensity had both scared and attracted her. He wasn't handsome, but he was alluring in a very alarming and dangerous way that she wasn't ready to deal with. Putting all thoughts of the dark man out of her head, she walked up to Ace who was arguing with a large, fat man about supplies. This was her life now, and she would take whatever came her way.


End file.
